


found you (& lost myself)

by KeeperofSeeds



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: A City in Chaos, Character Death, Depression, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, High Chaos (Dishonored), High Chaos Week 2017, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Low Chaos Emily Kaldwin, Mental Instability, Post-Dishonored 2 (Video Game), Rebuilding, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2018-11-16 09:54:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11250720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeeperofSeeds/pseuds/KeeperofSeeds
Summary: Corvo gives Emily back the throne (and an Empire in chaos). Then he has to decide if he can live with the decisions he made along the way.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A late contribution to High Chaos Week 2017 that took longer than I expected to finish.

Losing Jessamine was bad enough, all those years ago. Emily had been the only thing he'd had left. The shining jewel he'd focused on. The memory of her had kept him sane in those long dark days in Coldridge Prison, and then in those first weeks of fighting and hunting for the self styled Loyalists.

Even after that bitter betrayal, he'd held tight to that last picture of Emily's. Held tight to the memory of her bent over a table, smiling and chatting and she colored. He'd sheltered her from the worst of it, and that made the pain worth it. Pulling her past the dead Loyalists and down, down to the docks, he'd thought their troubles were past. Foolish really.

He'd gone soft in the years following. Complacent.

Now it might have cost him everything.

Corvo feels his mind shift, something inside stumbling sideways, like the feel of a boat underfoot making a turn you hadn't expected, when watching Delilah smoothly pull his sword from her side. Watching Emily reach out and be overtaken by stone.

Before the darkness takes him, he only has one thought running through his head. One that echoes long ago dreams on the pavilion outside.

_You can't save her._

 

* * *

 

Losing Emily...sends him over the edge. He wakes and feels the bloodlust singing in his veins The rush of adrenaline in a fight outnumbered three to one calls to him. The need to seek revenge. It's nothing like the horrified numbness that had overtaken him after Jessamine. Nothing like the cold determination that had brewed while he endured the torture and slander in Coldridge.

What a fool he was to let this happen. Well, no longer. There will be no Loyalist committee this time. No chance for betrayal. He will do whatever he must to destroy Delilah, to free Emily, and to see her back on the throne where she belongs.

He will become the monster whispers painted him as. He will embrace the lie of the papers. He will take down all who oppose Emily. No one will stand in her way once he is done. He can only hope she will be safe as she in, trapped in Dunwall, in the very place she should have been safest.

 

* * *

 

He leaves Karnaca in chaos. His homeland sinking into ruin as he sets sail for Dunwall. The Howlers and the Abbey both at a loss without their leaders. Jindosh he left a babbling fool, trapped in his own mansion. Poetic justice he'd thought. The Duke dead at his hand. The true Crown Killer is gone. Saved only by the strength of her assistant's care for her. The poor fool had done all the work on the serum but had been trapped before he could administer it. One last chance Dr Hypatia. Trapped in her crumbling island sanatorium. Corvo doubts even the good Doctor's medical knowledge could heal the rot at the core of the islands, though he's sure that she will stay and try.  

She doesn't know or want to acknowledge that maybe, there are some things that aren't worth saving. 

 

* * *

 

The ride back to Dunwall leaves him twitchy. Sokolov won't stop sighing as he glances at Corvo and then back to his painting. Delilah's mocking voice permeates his mind, the sound fundamentally wrong coming from the mess of gears and flesh in his inner pocket. Jessamine's final words run on a loop through his dreams. Her disappointment cuts like a knife. Why couldn't she understand all he was doing for Emily? Emily didn't deserve to come back to a throne surrounded by corruption. She needed a clean slate.

 

He's so close now. Only Delilah and the Tower itself stands between him and his goal.

 

* * *

 

Dunwall looks worse than ever from the harbor. The low smog that hangs over the city carries a stench of rot different from the usual stink of the factories. The streets look empty. Not even beggars linger on the docks in the late afternoon.

He gives one more half-hearted look about the deck, but Meagan, or whatever her true name is, is gone. He should be mad he didn't see it before. He's known she was hiding something, but he'd never suspected she'd been part of the assassins who'd ruined his life the first time.

At least she'd left the skiff when she'd run off to Outsider knows where. She needn't worry. She wasn't worth chasing. Not now, when he was _so_ close to his goal.

 

* * *

 

It's a struggle now to sneak through the courtyard and around the bonfires the witches have made. Their cackling laughter as they lounge around pieces of the castle irritates him. They have no right to be here. _None_. Yet here they stand, desecrating his home, _Emily's_ home! How he longs to silence their gloating, but the need for surprise overrides his want. Delilah deserves to stew in her paranoia for just a little longer.

His determination is strengthened when he stops by the pavilion and see's Jessamine's grave. Delilah has defaced it; her scrawled writing marring the white stones. He scratches a boot heel against the words but the paint is long dried. It will no doubt need to be scrubbed off by hand. He silently promises that it will be among the first things he sees done. He kneels for another moment before her grave, aching to hear Jessamine's voice one last time, but that time is past.

 

He stands and faces the castle again. _Soon_ …he thinks. _I'm coming for you Delilah._

 

* * *

 

The second time he stands in a throne room and plunges his sword through Delilah is better than the first. Even standing upon the black stone in her twisted dream world, he can feel the difference. Feel the solid angle of flesh and bone fighting against the intrusion, can feel the warm blood drip over his hand. He still feels the echo of the Heart disintegrating as Delilah's soul is forced back into her body. That last part of Jessamine gone forever.

She shrieks in his ear, and he feels the tingle of magic trying and failing to reach him, but they'd long past that now, even in this world she'd created, he was more powerful. He had nothing left to lose. The worst had already come.

 

Corvo twists the knife again and Delilah chokes, blood beginning to spill from her lips. Still she speaks.  
"I never…expected _you_ to be the one to best me," she rasps out with a wet chuckle. "You, the high and mighty _Lord Protector_ , dirtying your hands and...doing what the Knife could not." Her chuckles grow in volume and she pulls him in closer to smear bloodied lips against his cheek, a sick parody of a lover's kiss. "Congratulations."

 

Corvo pulls back with a jerk, his sword with him, and Delilah collapses inelegantly to the floor, dead.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the day seems to float past him like a dream. One where he is observing events from a distance instead of going through the motions himself.

 

Walking back through the portal, clearing the leftover hounds from the room, stepping over and around roots and other fauna embedded into the floor and crawling up columns. Noting the damage and rot throughout the throne room. Seeing how it's all changed in the months he's been gone.

Emily stands where he last saw her, still reaching. He thought Delilah's death would free her. Corvo reaches out to touch his daughter's frozen face, after weeks upon weeks spent apart and feels sorrow rise up inside him, a black wave threatening to bring him to his knees. Was it all for nothing?

He feels cold and his hand on Emily's cheek begins to shake. He'd never considered Emily not waking. It just wasn't a possibility. There had to be something he missed, something he could do. Tears well up and he leans forward to rest his head against the cool stone of her forehead. Something shudders. Some leftover magic or force from the Void. Stone cracks beneath his hand. Slowly it begins to crumble and fall away. He hurries the process, brushing grit away from her face, shielding her eyes as more and more dust falls downward.

 

Emily blinks, her brow furrowed, her eyes still not quite focused. They drift around the vines in the room before coming back to notice Corvo in front of her.

"Father? Are you- Are you really here?"

Corvo smiles, and it's as brittle as the china thrown out onto the lawn.  He reaches out both his hands, filthy and bloodstained, and says, "It's me. I'm here."

Emily throws herself forward into his embrace like she did as a child. She is shaking and he lowers them both down to their knees.

"I'm here. It's over," he says over and over, holding her close, not caring that he was filthy or that he smelt of salt and blood, just that they were here, _finally_ , together.

He's not sure how long they kneel on the cold stones, hands clutching at each other, reassuring each other they are alive. Eventually Emily pulls back, enough to look him in the eye. Grabbing one of his hands between both of hers she asks, "Father, what _happened_?" 

He flounders, unsure where to start, how to explain the full scope of the coup. How to explain what he did ( _all for her, it was all for her)_ a voice in his head whispers, but another voice echoes forth that sounds eerily like Jessamine's asking, _is this truly what she wanted?_ and he shuts his mouth again, eyes falling to the floor, uncertainty creeping up his spine.  
"Delilah's gone," he finally grits out between clenched teeth.

A mix of emotions flutter across Emily's face. Relief, confusion, sadness. She looks past him and notices the state of the throne room, and her eyes widen. "How long was I trapped?" she asks, but shakes her head before he can answer. "Later," she decided. "You can tell me everything later. Right now you look as if a stiff breeze might knock you over, and I'm so hungry I could eat a horse." She smiles, lips tight at the huff of laughter that gets her. "Whatever happened, we can fix it. Together. Starting tomorrow."

 

* * *

 

They sleep upstairs, Emily resting beneath a tattered blanket curled against his side, frowning in her sleep. It's easy to pretend, Corvo thinks, that it's 10 years earlier and he's just finished telling stories to Emily before bed and that she's fallen asleep on his shoulder. Stories of danger and fighting and pirates and wicked men who always get their due. Only this time the story features her. Features her people. Features him.

He resists the pull of sleep for as long as he can, still wary, and anticipating another attack. An overlooked wolf hound or a wandering witch come back for revenge. His mind won't stop turning over scenarios. All the things they'll need to do, people to contact, loyalties to test, places to rebuild.

Emily lets out a huff in her sleep and curls up tighter under the blanket.  
  
Tomorrow, Corvo thinks. Emily was right. They will begin work tomorrow. And he lets himself fall into dreamless sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

2 months later

  

The Heart is gone, yet he still hears its whispers in his mind. Sharing the secrets of strangers in Court, insight on their motives...and late at night, questions and condemnations about the blood on his hands. 

You could have spared so many...why didn't you?

He clenches his fist around the emptiness until he feels the prick of his nails digging into skin. Focusing on the physical pain to keep him grounded in the here and now.

Jessamine is gone. He knows that.

He doesn't know if she will ever be at peace, but at least she is free. 

Though the echo of her words guides him still. His hand twitches, habit making him miss the weight of the Heart in his hand or secreted away as a comforting weight in breast pocket. When the urge gets too much, in those early days of rebuilding, he reaches for Emily's hand and feels it's steady weigh in his. She accepts the touch, indulges in his whims, for even though she can only guess at what happened these past months based on rumors and word of mouth, Emily remembers all too well the first time Corvo was taken from her. How they clung together after it all.

Corvo is grateful, though he doesn't say it aloud. He just closes his eyes for a moment to revel in the touch of warm flesh instead of stone, to reassure himself of Emily's continued presence and safety.

I did ithe thinks. She's back where she belongs.

So why can't he fall back into the old rhythms and patterns of life?

* * *

 He stands behind Emily's throne, glowering down at the mix of bowing and scraping nobles and politicians that have crawled back out from their safe rooms or from the neighboring cities they'd fled to after Delilah's coup. 

He knows their kind. Knows what types of deceit lies in their mind. 

Liars. Murderers. Rapists. Monsters hidden in plain view under wigs and fancy clothes.

He makes sure they know they are watched. He lurks, a shadow behind Emily's shoulder, protecting her from their greed and ambitions. Never again he swears. Never again will he be caught off guard. 

* * *

Emily's eyes grow more worried every day. Every meeting with her advisers leads to another problem discovered. Karnaca burns. Dunwall crumbles. Leftover vines, courtesy of Delilah twine around columns in the palace and break through wooden floorboards. The tree in the chapel resists removal. He'd ordered it chopped down and taken to be burned but what little progress was made during the day was erased each night. Residual magic lingering in the dark corners, scaring the servants and returning nobles alike. Despite the proliferation of vines growing through the city, their food stores run low.  Garden plots struggle to produce so late in the year, and ships sent out with pleas for aid take time.  

Fixing the Empire will be no easy task, even for the girl Empress who came onto the thrown during the Rat Plague and saw that great challenge overcame.

* * *

Corvo feels the echoes of the Void reaching out to him as he patrols the castle late into the night, his hand burning beneath the leather wrapping. 

This is your doingit whispers. But it's all just in his mind. A manifestation of his own guilt he thinks. The Outsider hasn't appeared to him in weeks. He doesn't know if that is a good or a bad sign.

Rebuilding an Empire isn't as exciting as revenge he supposes, triple checking the area surrounding the waterlock.

* * *

Late one night, while he is brushing her hair, Emily asks him again about what had happened while she was trapped in stone. Combing her hair is a nighttime ritual held over from childhood, something she'd begun after they'd returned home following the events at the Hound Pits Pub.  It was something she'd asked for when her mind was troubled or when nightmares lurk too close in the shadows. He'd gradually passed the task off to her nanny or later, her lady's maid, but she'd found a silver brush knocked behind one of her cracked dressers and had shown up at his door in the early days of cleaning out the tower and held it out to him in a silent question. He wonders if she asks for these old rituals still to soothe herself, or to soothe him?

He lets her into the room and walk past the piles of rotted or broken pieces wood he's still collecting in piles from his quarters and the surrounding halls, and sit on the blue cover of his bed. She sits quietly, hands folded in her lap and waits for him to begin.

His hands were made for violence, and he fights against their shaking as he drags the brush through dark hair  (hair just like her mother's) as he tries to find an answer to the whispered questions. 

"How could things go so wrong? How can I fix this?" 

He doesn't say, "I don't think it canbe fixed." He doesn't say, "Maybe Dunwall doesn't deserve a third chance."

He does pull her close, smooth back a flyaway piece of her hair and reassure her, "whatever you choose, I'll support it."  

Jessamine had been good at soothing over his missteps with the Nobles. Emily didn't have the level of trust Jessamine had with her father's circle, she doesn't have anything but fear from this new group of young bastard children, survivors who'd outlived their families long enough to begin climbing the social ladder in the aftermath of chaos. 

She has time though. He will make sure of it.

She sighs but turns to wrap her arms around his middle and squeeze tight. 

Then she whispers into his shoulder, a quiet admission, kept close to her heart through the years since the Plague, "I thought we had been through enough trouble to last a lifetime. Are we cursed to constantly struggle?" 

Corvo glances down at his wrapped hand and wonders. 


End file.
